


Tourniquet

by ax100



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, M/M, starts out cute and light then gradually gets heavier just sayin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-27 22:50:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10818387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ax100/pseuds/ax100
Summary: Shiro patches Ulaz right back up. Ulaz helps Shiro put himself back together.





	Tourniquet

**Author's Note:**

> ALTERNATIVE SUMMARY:  
> me: i'm gonna write a cute fic!!!!  
> fic: *gets angsty real fast*  
> me: gdi
> 
> Hi there! Ax here. It's been a long time since I've written fic, but Voltron got the creative juices flowing in me again. That being said, I'm super rusty from having not written in so long so pardon if there are any parts that sound off! 
> 
> When I started writing this, I didn't know yet about Uliro Week and it just so happens that this fic falls right into the Sick/Healing theme for one of the days. I thought about waiting until then to post but I've been working on this for...way too long already and I wanted to get it out there before I chicken out on posting it ever ^^;;;
> 
> Hope you enjoy! :)

“This is unneeded,” Ulaz says, exasperated, as he tries to yank his arm out of Shiro’s grasp. “I am capable of doing this myself. I’ve treated myself for worse injuries in the past.”

“I know,” Shiro replies, his brow furrowed with intense concentration as he holds on strong. In his other hand are a pair of tweezers, pinched around a cotton ball saturated with a homemade ointment Coran swore up and down would help Galra wounds heal faster. “Stop—Ulaz, _hold still!_ I might accidentally stab you with this, and then we’ll have an even bigger problem on our hands.”

The thought makes Ulaz pause, and Shiro takes the opportunity to flash him a small, hopeful little smile. “Let me take care of you?” he asks. “Please?” he tacks on, giving his best puppy dog eyes for good measure. He doesn’t actually know if it’s a look Ulaz can appreciate, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

Ulaz scrutinizes him for a moment, his eyes narrowed, and Shiro is almost sure he’ll be shooed away, but then is pleasantly surprised when Ulaz just sighs in defeat and looks away. His lips are pulled into a thin, straight line as he resigns himself to his fate. It isn’t exactly the wholehearted ‘yes’ he’d been hoping for (there’s a low noise emanating from Ulaz that sounds suspiciously like soft growling), but at least he’d stopped moving.

Huh, maybe the puppy dog eyes do work on Galra.

Shiro gets right to work and dutifully starts dabbing the ointment around the wound. There is no reaction—no flinch or hiss or flattened ears—and Shiro’s not sure if it’s because this is one of those medicines that miraculously doesn’t sting or because Ulaz is just used to the burn of disinfection.

Honestly, Ulaz was right. The scrape on his upper arm, while large, isn’t deep, and certainly not life-threatening. Just a scratch, really. He had gotten it a few hours ago when he had been thrown by his game across the rocky terrain of the planet he had been hunting on. At most, it’s just a bit of an eyesore, as patches of fur had been sheared off here and there, but nothing that needed more than a little disinfecting.

While the humans and Alteans were fine with food goo and what passed as vegetables most of the time, Galra were primarily carnivorous, a point that was brought to light only after Lance had jokingly pointed out that Ulaz seemed to stare at Allura’s mice an awful lot, like he wanted to eat them. The room suddenly went very quiet when Ulaz admitted that he did.

From then on, Allura had permitted him to go out on regular hunting trips. Every few days, he’d fly out in a pod and come back a few hours later with nothing more than a sack of neatly trimmed meat slung over his shoulder (he had been explicitly forbidden from carving on the ship). He always gave a portion of his kill to Hunk to cook, remembering that humans were omnivores and needed it too. And while he always sat down with the other inhabitants of the ship for meal times, he never ate in front of them—Alteans, as a race, were vegetarian (and whatever food goo was considered as) and would probably not enjoy the sight of him devouring raw, bloody meat at the dinner table. The thoughtfulness was much appreciated.

“All done,” Shiro announces as he secures the bandage into place—it’s some kind of Altean plant-based material that doesn’t need any adhesive, clinging onto Ulaz’s fur with little help. “See how fast it went once you stopped squirming?”

Ulaz snorts. “Unnecessary,” he says, but there is approval in his eyes when he looks at Shiro’s handiwork. “Hm. It’s quite neat.”

“First aid training at the Garrison,” he gives as explanation, standing up to empty the floating pan filled with used cotton balls into the trash chute at the corner of the room. “They had us wrapping bandages so much, I could probably do it one-handed with my eyes closed.”

That seems to impress Ulaz. “A useful skill to have in combat.”

“Well, they were probably thinking more along the lines of accidents, not fighting,” Shiro admits, plopping down next to Ulaz on the bed again. He only comes up to his chin, even sitting down.

Ulaz makes a sound of acknowledgement, but doesn’t say anything more. He takes on a faraway look, as if he’s fallen deep in thought, as he stares at the wall directly across them. A few beats of silence pass before he turns to Shiro again. “Thank you for tending to me,” he quietly says.

Shiro smiles at him as he feels warmth stir in his chest. “You’re welcome,” he answers, then remembers something. “Oh, one last thing.”

Before Ulaz can react, Shiro leans towards him and presses a kiss to the top portion of the dressed wound. He pulls back and almost laughs at the look of utter confusion on Ulaz’s face. (Although to anyone else, it probably just looked like an angry glare.)

“Just kissing the boo-boo away,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

A blank stare.

“’Boo-boo,’ another word for ‘wound.’ Children use it,” he explains, then shrugs. “Kisses help them heal faster.”

Ulaz’s brow just wrinkles even further, like he’s trying to figure out the medicinal properties of kisses. “This was also part of your training?”

“Wha—no!” Shiro breaks out into giggles. “It doesn’t actually work. It’s just something that parents do to their kids.”

Ulaz suddenly jerks back with wide eyes and makes a strange face; it makes him look slightly constipated. “…and you…to me…?” he flounders in a strangled voice.

Shiro blinks. Now it’s his turn to be confused. Did he say something wrong? Ulaz is staring at him with wide eyes, shoulders tensed up and fur standing on end like a frightened cat, and it’s a bit unnerving. Shiro backtracks, trying to recall what he said.

And then it clicks.

He wouldn’t have been able to stifle the laugh that bubbled out of his throat even if he tried. Ulaz had explained it before during one of their many talks about the cultural differences between humans and Galra—social roles were a lot more rigid and defined in Galra culture, which meant that for Shiro to do something for Ulaz that normally a parent would do for their child…

“It doesn’t mean what you think it does,” he says quickly, noting the way that Ulaz is now glaring at him with his ears flattened against his head, obviously not getting what was so funny about the whole situation. Shiro, riding a sudden wave of fondness for this adorable 7-foot-tall alien, tries to pacify him by grabbing his hand, threading their fingers together. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just trying to be cute.” He brings the back of Ulaz’s hand up to his lips and kisses it.

Ulaz still looks pretty suspicious about the whole thing, but he starts to visibly relax now that he’s sure his lover isn’t implying that he sees him as his _offspring_. Still, he grumbles something under his breath in Galra, probably about how there’s nothing cute about it. But he’s probably not _that_ annoyed, since he doesn’t extract his hand from Shiro’s grasp. Shiro, out of respect, tries to keep his giggling to a minimum.

After a while, Shiro nudges him. “Move a little,” he says. Ulaz is still a bit miffed, but doesn’t argue. With some maneuvering, they rearrange themselves so that Shiro is seated between Ulaz’s legs, his back leaning against the Galra’s chest.

It’s a position Shiro often seeks to be in. Back on Earth, it was actually quite rare that he got to be the little spoon, being as big as he is by human standards. And while having a partner much larger than him can be intimidating in many ways (not to mention the fact that said partner is also _Galra_ ), Shiro finds that he actually really likes this. It makes him feel small. Pampered. Well-taken care of.

He makes a contented little sound as Ulaz rests his chin on top of his head.

“You are incorrigible,” Ulaz sighs. The words are exasperated and fond in equal measure.

Shiro can feel a clawed hand gently trailing down his left arm. A question.

“Really? Lots of people back on Earth say I’m quite the role model.”

He takes the hand gently in his own and leads it down to rest on his abdomen. An answer.

Ulaz’s other hand creeps in from beside his other hip to join its partner, and the fingers thread together. The warmth and weight of his palms is pleasant on Shiro’s stomach.

“Hm, that does not bode well for the rest of your race then,” Ulaz murmurs as he nuzzles closer, making Shiro chuckle. Seated this close, he can both feel and hear the rumbling emanating deep from Ulaz’s chest—purring, he realizes.

His laughing gradually dies down and they find themselves settling into tranquil silence. Shiro slowly leans more and more of his weight against Ulaz until he’s practically sagging against him. Ulaz doesn’t stop him, and even goes as far as spread his legs more so Shiro can shuffle back even further. His clawed thumbs start drawing little circles on Shiro’s stomach.

Shiro closes his eyes takes a deep breath. The smile on his face feels easy and natural. He feels warm. Contented. Happy. Ulaz continues to purr away behind him.

They stay in that position for a long while.

Eventually, Ulaz shifts, making Shiro’s eyes flutter open. And before he can ask him about it, he suddenly feels thin lips brush against his shoulder. They drag up and press a soft kiss to the dip above his clavicle, right at the junction where his shoulder meets his neck.

The sensation is muted through the layers of his clothes, but Shiro still feels his entire face flood with heat as the kisses work their way up the side of his neck—slow, unhurried. The purring is even louder now. He can feel his heart rate start to pick up.

“Um, Ulaz?” He only gets a grunt in return. “Are you—“ He gasps as Ulaz’s lips seek out the sensitive spot behind his ear. He looks over his shoulder as Ulaz pulls away slightly. “Are you scenting me?” he asks, flushed and breathless and slightly bewildered.

It’s true—he recognizes these as the motions that Ulaz goes through when he complains that Shiro ‘doesn’t smell like him anymore’ and it ‘must be rectified,’ but usually, it’s just him pushing his nose around into the little nooks and crannies of his shoulders and neck, but the kissing. Well, the kissing is new.

Ulaz’s doesn’t say anything, just reaches up to brush the white tuft of hair away to kiss Shiro’s forehead, then leans down to do the same to his lips. Tender. Gentle. Loving. Shiro’s not sure if a blush can spread all the way to his heart, but that’s what he feels.

Ulaz nuzzles against the side of his face and gives his cheek a little lick—the Galra way of showing affection—before turning him around fully. Even sitting on his thighs, Shiro isn’t quite eye level with him; Ulaz has to lean down to gently knock their foreheads together, yellow eyes meeting gray. “I’ve been told that kissing can accelerate the healing process,” he says, his tone teasing.

Shiro chuckles. He’s already opening his mouth to tell him that _he’s_ supposed to be the one ‘kissing the boo-boo away’ when he takes a good look at the way Ulaz is regarding him. It’s…almost sad, somehow. The words die on his tongue as it dawns onto him that Ulaz isn’t referring to his scrape.

Suddenly, something occurs to him, and his hand flies up to his shoulder--

_From when a creature had latched onto him with its jagged teeth._

\--trails up to his clavicle--

_Broken under the weight of a crowbar in the arena._

\--and settles on his neck.

_Electrocuted by a guard for misbehaving._

“Oh,” he breathes out as his hand falls back down to his lap. The realization settles like a heavy stone in his stomach. He’s staring downwards, directly at Ulaz’s crotch, but it doesn’t awaken any heat within him. He feels naked all of a sudden, with all his scars and the wounds _inside him_ on display for the world to see. His heart is thudding in his chest. He’s not sure anymore from what.

“Shiro?” Ulaz calls out to him softly. The concern in his voice is open and raw. Big, clawed hands come up to gently grasp his trembling, balled up fists, the thumb brushing over white knuckles.

His eyes slam shut. He’s on the precipice of a panic attack; his mind is starting to go into overdrive, and all the thoughts start coming in starts and stops in a disorganized jumble, _no rhyme or reason to them, fast and frenzied, threatening to overwhelm_ \--

“Breathe, Shiro.” Ulaz’s voice is barely above a whisper, quiet but unwavering.

The words sound distant and muffled, but he does as he’s told—opens his mouth to take deep breaths. They’re stuttering, at first, and for a moment, he fears that he’s drowning, but he shakes the thought away and tries to focus on something other than the roaring in his ears.

The touch of Ulaz’s forehead against his own grounds him.

He takes notice of the thumbs still running back and forth across his knuckles. They trail over them in a way that’s predictable. Steady. Coherent. He latches onto that, tries to match his breathing in time with their rhythm.

“I am here,” Ulaz murmurs. “Come back to me, Shiro.”

And he does.

It takes a while, but eventually, he does manage to re-center himself. His breathing gradually evens out and the tension in his shoulders drains away, leaving him feeling a bit lightheaded and weak. His skin feels slightly clammy from the thin sheen of sweat that has formed. But he’s okay.

“I’m here, Ulaz,” he says. He slowly opens his eyes, gray eyes meeting yellow. “I’m here.”

“I’m sorry,” the other apologizes immediately, looking ashamed. His grip on Shiro’s hands is tight. “I did not mean to upset you.”

“It’s okay. I know you didn’t,” he tries to reassure him, giving a tired smile. “I’m…okay. Not good, but okay,” he says truthfully, grimacing a little. “It’s something that needs to be talked about, I guess. But not right now. Okay?” He tries for a smile again.

At Ulaz’s slow nod of understanding, Shiro rises up on his knees so that they’re really eye level with each other, and places a hand on Ulaz’s cheek. “It’s alright, Ulaz. I forgive you.”

Ulaz blinks slowly and takes a deep breath as he leans into the touch. Hesitation flickers over his face for a second before he turns his head a little to kiss the palm of Shiro’s prosthetic hand resting on his cheek.

Slow. Unhurried. Reverent.

Repentant.

The feeling that rushes through Shiro makes him gasp. It’s an action that carries so many implications that he finds his mind reeling again. But somehow, it’s different this time. In an instant, the last dregs of the haze that had settled over him in the aftermath of his almost-panic attack clear, and suddenly, things make sense. He finds himself hyperaware of just how close they are to each other, of the places where they touch and what Ulaz is trying to tell him with each of them.

Of the steady exhales fanning out over his skin, intimate in their proximity, telling him, _‘I am here. I am with you.’_

Of the arms lined with corded muscle braced on either side of him, strong and elegant, silently reassuring him, ‘ _You are safe with me. I will protect you.’_

Of the thin lips trailing over old wounds to reaffirm his unspoken oath, _‘I will help you heal.’_

Of the bright eyes that meet his, a gentle request in their depths:

_‘Let me take care of you. Please.’_

He takes a shuddering breath. He is overcome, as overwhelmed as he had been a few minutes ago, but this time, for a completely different reason.

The healing process is a long and painful one. And on some days, it feels like it will never end, that he’ll never be able to rise up from the things that were done to him, that he’ll never be able to bare himself to another person again—physically, emotionally, anything, _everything_. Sometimes, he doesn’t know if he’ll even be able to handle being touched ever again without feeling like his blood has suddenly been turned into acid.

Ulaz knows this. He understands this. But he has always communicated his love for Shiro gently, using quiet words spoken in dim light, and even in the moments when they are together but do not talk, he touches Shiro like he’s something precious. And in the past, this would have made him recoil, would have made him choke and burn from the inside. But now, with new meaning, Ulaz’s touch makes him light up with new life; it soothes the dark ache deep within him. And while the batting average is not at a hundred percent, and there are still days when the contact sears his skin, it’s getting better.

 _He’s_ getting better.

He doesn’t bother wiping up the tears that have started to fall. He smiles—laughs even—and leans forward to kiss him. ‘ _Yes,’_ he tries to tell Ulaz through their shared contact, pouring his whole heart into it. _‘Please stay.’_

And he keeps going, melding their lips together, again and again—a soothing balm for their injuries, both past and present.

Kisses help the wounds heal faster, after all.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment if you liked it!
> 
> And hit me up @ ax100 on tumblr! :) I'm always down for meeting new peeps. And screaming about Voltron, haha.


End file.
